


Alone at the Rendezvous

by Sayyid_the_Lesser



Category: Sly Cooper (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Canon Continuation, Gen, Set After Thieves in Time, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-30
Updated: 2018-06-30
Packaged: 2019-05-30 18:02:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15102068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sayyid_the_Lesser/pseuds/Sayyid_the_Lesser
Summary: ... A lifetime sentence in the New Kingdom, isolated from everyone and everything he cared for. All because he couldn’t let a scoundrel fall to his death—because of his honor! As he came to learn that fateful day, and in the subsequent years, there was no such thing as honor among thieves...Set after the events of Thieves in Time, Sly has all but accepted that no one is coming to save him.





	Alone at the Rendezvous

**Author's Note:**

> The final product of a oneshot assignment in my fanfiction course. Sly Cooper has always held a special place in my heart as a childhood icon, so when given the opportunity to write about any source material, the choice was obvious.
> 
> Now while I stand by the assertion that Thieves in Time was a decent game, I can acknowledge that there were some missteps in the course of the story. One of the most bothersome aspects was the cliffhanger, which in the context of the subsequent Sly drought, was just plain irresponsible on Sanzaru's part. I thought I'd try my hand at patching it up, drawing a healthy dose of inspiration from source material like Samurai Jack. Hope you enjoy.
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own Sly Cooper or other affiliated materials.

The market was rife with charlatans.

“Ailment and malady begone! Tonics and ointments brewed in the tradition of Imhotep! Guaranteed to banish infirmities of body and spirit!”

As per usual.

“Claim the insight of the scribes for yourself! Jewelry imbued with the blessings of Thoth!”

And people had called him a thief. 

Sly shrugged the thought off as he made his way through Memphis’ bazaar, wandering disinterestedly past stalls peddling weaved goods, panting behind the bristles of his ragged beard as he did. The Sun had made for a miserable day. One where the ground was converted into a scorching scourge of bare feet and any trace of moisture—sweat excluded—was absent. Days like this made the raccoon long for the temperate weather of Paris. He managed a scowl at his source of torment, eyes narrowed in the face of its unrelenting rays. How the locals could come to worship the agonizing thing was beyond him.

The denizens of Memphis were a hardier sort, paying no mind to the battering beams of the Sun. Laborers filed past him, hauling excruciatingly heavy loads of grains and ore. His parcel, heavy in its own right, seemed featherlight in comparison. Meanwhile, their employers engaged in vigorous shouting matches for the attention of prospective shoppers. He drifted by a herd of antelope, who were crowded around a particularly shifty crocodile claiming to be selling enchanted pottery, molded from the very clay used by the god Khnum to create life. Sly had half the mind to expose the merchant as the crooked-toothed sham he was. Exploiting the superstitions of the masses—choosing innocent people as your marks—it was detestable. There was no honor in it.

He stopped in his tracks, thoughts bitterly trained on the word: honor. His hands clenched into fists. Honor. What a gullible sentiment it was, honor. He did everything to preserve it, his honor. He stole exclusively from other criminals, strived always to be a gentleman, and adhered to courtesy, even in the face of adversity. What did he gain in turn? A lifetime sentence in the New Kingdom, isolated from everyone and everything he cared for. All because he couldn’t let a scoundrel fall to his death—because of his honor! As he came to learn that fateful day, and in the subsequent years, there was no such thing as honor among thieves.

**“I could have told you as much.”** a robotic voice rumbled.

Sly grimaced at the sound of the voice. He wanted nothing more than to respond in turn, but he knew better than to do so in a public setting. Notoriety was not something to be invited in this instance. It was difficult enough reassuming anonymity after his explosive entrance to the era. Taking one last glance at the scene behind him, he paced away, making no effort to intervene as one of the less shrewd shoppers bartered away a week’s worth of suppers for one of the ceramic baubles. 

Trudging forward, past the pervasive pungence of the fish market, he found himself at his destination: a somewhat remote mud brick settlement that had seen better days. The palm leaves etched above the reed door had long since weathered away, and cracks had overtaken much of the foundation. Enclosing the building were several stakes, from which hung dried fish, as well as the less fortunate ones still undergoing the process. On each side of the door was an adorned wooden rack, holding up figs and slices of melon to the Sun in the vein of two altars presenting sacrifices to the desiccation gods, complete with inscriptions that Sly had no means of understanding.

He took a deep sigh. It had been some time since he had social contact. He adjusted the coarse fabric of his shendyt, hoping to look presentable as possible, before entering the shop. He had not taken two steps inside before his ears were greeted by an exuberant howl.

“Hermit! You are back!”

The source of the voice was a rather boisterous hyena, barely visible behind the counter with the tall baskets of nuts and dried fruits resting on it. Sly closed the door behind him.

“Supplies are low, Masuda.” he responded gruffly as he unslung the parcel from his shoulder.

Masuda shifted the baskets to the side, eagerly gesturing where to unfurl the package. The raccoon did so, revealing several reeds of papyrus and prompting a toothy grin from the vendor.

“This is good quality,” he mused as he inspected one of the reeds, “We should be able to fill the demands of the scribes for some time.”

He turned in place, scanning the shelves behind him.

“Now, hermit, I believe I owe you something,” he declared as he made his way to the shop’s backroom.

Sly smiled sheepishly. It had been a bit of an impromptu agreement between him and Masuda, based primarily in the latter’s pity. He’d collect sedges of papyrus along the Nile, from which the hyena would fashion paper. In exchange, he’d receive a hefty supply of dried foods, something duly appreciated given that he lived alone in the wilderness. It was always nice to have a reliable source of nourishment to fall back on when the day’s foraging yielded nothing.

**“The alleged master thief. Living paycheck to paycheck. As a drudge, no less… No doubt your father is proud.”**

“What’s the news in Memphis?” Sly interjected, hoping conversation would silence the voice.

“Same old political mischief as always,” Masuda called over, “The magistrates squeeze every last drop out of us to fill their own pockets while the Pharaoh bickers with priests on account of this ‘monotheism’ nonsense.”

From the storeroom, the hyena produced a sack that looked to be bursting at the seams. As he shambled to the counter he spoke out in deepened mock authority.

“‘I am the Pharaoh, man! I’ve no time for this pish-poshity poppycock Amun-Ra! The Hittites are coming!’”

He set the sack on the counter with a thud. Sly smirked.

“Sounds like a man in touch with his people.”

The merchant waggled his eyebrows.

“Well, hermit, this should settle you for some time. You still sure you don’t want to stay here and work for me?”

The raccoon slung the supplies over his shoulder before offering an apologetic smile.

“I’m afraid so, Masuda. I prefer to keep a low profile.”

“And what lower than a merchant’s steward?” Masuda sighed, before relenting, “I suppose there is no harm asking again the next time you drift in. Take care, hermit.”

Sly bade the hyena farewell before heading back into the unforgiving embrace of the Sun. He squinted at the grossly incandescent orb, now setting against a crescendo of vermillion. Judging by its position, he should be able to make it back by nightfall. And so he retraced his steps: past the musk of fresh caught fish and past the web of vendors’ wiles; out of Memphis civilization and into the grip of the Sahara.

As the Sun made its retreat, Sly felt himself growing more into his element. His mind wandered back to those exhilarating Paris nights. Leaping rooftop to rooftop and shimmying across thin ledges. Bentley delivering directions in his ear as he crept in through an unassuming vent. Lifting the keys off an unsuspecting guard to gain access to the mark’s safe. Replacing the unjustly earned stash with a calling card before hitching a getaway from Murray at the rendezvous. And of course, who could forget the lovely Inspector Fox, who would invariably intervene at one of these steps, given her knack for it?

His heart fluttered. He had always wanted to tell her how he really felt. To escape from the cowardly cops and robbers dynamic he maintained in favor of finally settling down with her. He was willing to relinquish everything—the riches, the legacy, the Gang—all for a chance to be with her. She must have wanted it too, for when he feigned amnesia that night on Kaine Island, she went along with it, fabricating a past for him that had little to do with Coopers and criminal records. She gave him the chance to reform, and he broke her heart in return. All because he couldn’t resist the temptation to steal. How ironic it was that only now, millennia apart from her, that he finally managed to kick the habit.

On that sour note, he arrived at the limestone formation that designated his home. It was one of many in the immediate area, made unique by a natural alcove that had formed within it—just large enough for him to make a humble abode to shelter him from the elements. It sat untouched since his departure earlier that morning. He cast aside the sack of supplies before gazing up at the night sky. The temperature would be dipping soon enough. Luckily, he kept a stockpile of dead reeds from his collection runs for Masuda. He sauntered over to one corner of the alcove, kicking aside his bedroll. Brushing away the sand underneath, he cracked a grin as he produced some flint and a scrap of steel he had pocketed from the salvage of Le Paradox’s blimp.

He redirected his attention to the reeds, standing neatly in rows along the rock wall in spite of the uneven ground. Grabbing at a handful, he let loose a swear of indignation as the rest collapsed to the floor, releasing a cacophony of thumps and revealing the myriad of etchings beneath. Tally marks. 437 of them. Relics from the days when he cared to keep track of his time in Egypt. He liked to recount him when he was bored. 437 days and counting. 437 days… He shot a furtive glance at the innermost portion of the alcove, where the boulder sat. Its color clashed with the rest of the limestone: a whisper of a hint to the existence of a deeper recess behind. Perhaps… 

“No!” he reprimanded himself.

He was done with that. Clinging to the reeds in one hand and the flint and steel in the other, he set about making the fire outside the alcove. Striking stone to metal, Sly felt a chill run down his spine. There was a sudden shift around him. Something in the air—something unmistakable. Something intense, something raw. A charge of negativity. Of loathing. Of hatred. Emanating from something—something large and imposing. Not quite alive, yet not quite dead. A monstrosity of metal. 

**“Sly Cooper.”**

**Author's Note:**

> A cliffhanger to resolve a cliffhanger. Pretty novel solution, huh?
> 
> In truth, I wasn't overly confident in my abilities to write out a complete story within the constraints of the given word limit without the impact feeling cheapened. There are a quite a few plot elements that I had in mind that didn't come to fruition. To that end, there is a good possibility that this extends beyond a oneshot into a several chapter fic.
> 
> After all, leaving the story here would just be plain irresponsible.


End file.
